Page 36 of Walk on the Wildsyde

“Ye can stop that right now,” Hamilton muttered and stalked out of the room, not allowing himself to glance back at Clara, though the effort it took not to take one last look at her was disturbing.

He was just worried about the lass, that was all, he told himself reasonably. It wasn’t anything more than that. He was simply the kind of person who cared for his friends and would help anyone who needed it. All of which was entirely true, and didn’t help a bit.

Clara woke the next morning and profoundly wished she had not. Her head pounded, her throat was of the opinion she’d swallowed broken glass, and everything hurt.

“Aye, I ken ye are wishing ye died in the night, but it will pass, lassie,” Mrs Macready said comfortingly as she plumped Clara’s pillows. She’d sat and watched while Clara had painstakingly swallowed a small bowl of porridge she hadn’t wanted and refused to budge until it was all gone.

“Are you quite certain I didn’t?” Clara asked grimly, her voice rasping.

Mrs Macready chuckled and picked up the earthenware mug she’d placed beside the bed, settling it in Clara’s hands. “That’s what ye get for playing nursemaid to a spoiled little chit who’s no better than she ought to be. Drink that up now, every drop, and then ye will sleep for a bit.”

“I’ve only just woken up,” Clara protested, peering into the glass with interest.

“Ye need to rest and so ye shall sleep.” Mrs Macready noticed her dubious expression and gave a snort of laughter. “It’s a hot toddy, good for what ails ye.”

Clara looked up, interested despite her miserable mood. “What’s a hot toddy?”

“Whisky and hot water with honey and spices,” Mrs Macready told her.

“Whisky?” Clara said in alarm. “Oh, but I can’t. Papa—”

“Papa can speak to me if he doesnae like it, though in my opinion he doesnae need to be informed about it,” Mrs Macready said sternly. “Ye will drink it, and it will do ye good. It’s medicinal, aye?”

Clara investigated the mug uncertainly before lifting it to her nose and sniffing. Even though her sinuses were hardly working as they ought, it smelled wonderful. She took a tentative sip, her eyebrows flying up in surprise when she discovered it didn’t taste like vile medicine.

“Good, aye?” Mrs Macready said in amusement.

Clara licked her lips and took another sip, which was answer enough for Mrs Macready, who looked pleased.

A knock at the door sounded before her father poked his head in, concern in his eyes.

“My poor dear. You do look dreadful,” he said anxiously, which was not exactly what Clara wanted to hear, but it was nice that he was worried for her. “You’re sure it’s just a cold?” he asked Mrs Macready.

“Aye, Reverend. Dinnae worry yerself. I’ll take good care of her.”

Papa regarded her, his greying brows pinched together. “It’s just that Clara is never sick,” he added fretfully. “I don’t like to see you looking so frail and out of sorts, my dear. Perhaps I shall pop into the apothecary and see if he can recommend something. Or perhaps Mrs Cameron will have a remedy, she’s a wonderfully sensible woman, you know.”

Clara admitted herself surprised by such solicitude. Though it wasn’t entirely true that she was never sick, there was never anyone to nurse her, and she had never considered her father the sort to fuss around a sick bed, so she’d got used to seeing to herself and carrying on. She’d certainly never felt this ill before, though, so perhaps her father had never had the chance to show concern for her.

All the same, to take time out of his day to see to her needs was something she had not expected. She smiled at him gratefully, wondering if perhaps she had been too hard on him, and he was not so thoroughly selfish as she believed.

“Thank you, Papa, that is a kind thought, but there’s no need. Mrs Macready is taking good care of me.”

Her father nodded, looking somewhat reassured. “I’ll bring you a book, then. Something frivolous,” he said suddenly, apparently relieved to have thought of something she might like. “A novel,” he said satisfaction, before leaving the room.

“Good heavens,” Clara said, once he’d gone. “Papa disapproves of my novels.”

Mrs Macready smiled and nodded. “Many men take women for granted. They talk about us like we’re the weaker sex, when we’re the ones that keep going no matter what. It’s only when we’re so sick we must take to our beds that they suddenly realise we’re not invincible. I reckon it does them good,” she added with a wink.

Clara smiled, hearing the truth behind the words. “Thank you, Mrs Macready. You are quite marvellous and I’m so grateful to you for looking after me.”

“It’s a pleasure, lassie. Now you rest up and get well,” she added, and left Clara to finish her hot toddy in peace.